


Sons of Martha

by ixieko



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixieko/pseuds/ixieko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reeve Tuesti was always proud of his beloved city, of tall buildings and wide streets, of reactors, and medical facilities, and transportation systems; of comfort and security it provided to its inhabitants. More than that, now he was more than ever proud of the way well-oiled machine of city's construction and maintenance worked, hundreds of men and women doing their jobs for the good of the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of Martha

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native English speaker; sorry for any misspellings and grammar errors.

When power went out, dr. Pak was in the middle of surgery. His team reacted instantly: nurse Walles replaced dead ventilator with Ambu bag, while nurse Daly lit up battery-powered flashlight and called another nurse to assist. Surgery continued as planned and was finished with no complications.

The train #2 of the Perimeter Line stopped dead in the middle between Sectors #1 and #8. With power down, the lights went out and passengers were left in the sinister red light of emergency highlight. One of the passengers, a very young pregnant woman, started to panic, crying out that she was in labor. Conductor, Sofia Wolf, barely older than the girl, hurried to help her.

Peter Jace's daughter was blowing out candles on her birthday cake - four of them, shaped like tiny cactuars, - when his phone rang with emergency tune. "Oh, honey,", his wife complained, "can't they leave you alone even on your kid's birthday?"  
Peter answered the call. A few moments later he left his house in a hurry, leaving his disappointed wife behind.  
There was an explosion in the Reactor #1. All firefighter teams in the sector were summoned.

Passengers of the train #2 were rescued forty minutes later, led out of the rail tracks by firefighters. One of the men carried the woman who had given birth to her child merely several minutes ago, and Sofia Wolf carried the newborn, wrapped in her own jacket. Motorman stayed in the vehicle, waiting for power-up.

The team of electricians sent to reroute power from Mako Reactors of Sector #8 and Sector #2 worked as fast as they could. Still, it took about four hours to do the job.

...

Reeve Tuesti was always proud of his beloved city, of tall buildings and wide streets, of reactors, and medical facilities, and transportation systems; of comfort and security it provided to its inhabitants. More than that, now he was more than ever proud of the way well-oiled machine of city's construction and maintenance worked, hundreds of men and women doing their jobs for the good of the others.  
Despite the degree of destruction, there were as little casualties as it could possibly be. However, there were some things that should be done to ensure the future safety of citizens, one of them being installation of backup generators into every medical clinic. That was never done before, because Mako reactors were considered troubleproof.

He went into the elevator, carrying reports and proposals with him, heading to ShinRa high staff meeting on 66th floor.

...

Later that night, Tuesti sat in his office, staring over his table, littered with reports, at the TV screen on the wall.  
"...the worst in the history of the metropolis... thanks to the quick response by those in charge, there were no civilian casualties..."  
No casualties... Tuesti chuckled, a dry, pained sound. His men... civilians... their deaths were not even acknowledged. What was the point in his work, what was the point in _his men's_ hard and honest work, if it all resulted in _that_...?  
His phone rang. He glanced at caller ID. Tseng. He did not pick up. Despite his former sympathy for the Turk, he could not bear the thought of speaking with him right now.

It was not the first time Tuesti considered resignation from his post. However, it _was_ the first time he actually considered _suicide_ as an adequate method of said resignation. A proper payback for his inability to protect the city and its citizens.

But what he would make better by _deserting_ and leaving them all in the hands of madmen?

Cait Sith's unmoving form in the corner stared at him with accusing eyes.  
Reeve sighed.  
His guilt and remorse would not free him of his duty. His responsibilities stayed the same, in spite of his failures.

Phone rang again.  
Reeve Tuesti picked up.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;_  
 _But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart._  
 _And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,_  
 _Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest._

_It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock._  
 _It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock._  
 _It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,_  
 _Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main._

_They say to mountains "Be ye removed." They say to the lesser floods "Be dry."_  
 _Under their rods are the rocks reproved - they are not afraid of that which is high._  
 _Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit - then is the bed of the deep laid bare,_  
 _That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware._

_They finger Death at their gloves' end where they piece and repiece the living wires._  
 _He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires._  
 _Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,_  
 _And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall._

_To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar._  
 _They are concerned with matters hidden - under the earthline their altars are -_  
 _The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,_  
 _And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city's drouth._

_They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose._  
 _They do not preach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they damn-well choose._  
 _As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,_  
 _Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren's ways may be long in the land._

_Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;_  
 _Lo, it is black already with the blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!_  
 _Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,_  
 _But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need._

_And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed - they know the Angels are on their side._  
 _They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied_.  
 _They sit at the feet - they hear the Word - they see how truly the Promise runs._  
 _They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and - the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons!_

"The Sons of Martha", Joseph Rudyard Kipling, 1907


End file.
